


Exclusivity

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Partners, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Polyjuice Potion, Secret Identity, Sex Club, mentions of human trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Exclusivity meant a relationship. It meant commitment. It meant leaving herself open and vulnerable to another person beyond the carefully constructed bounds of sex.And so she ran.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 20
Kudos: 34
Collections: Tag(line) You're It! Competition





	Exclusivity

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020) collection. 



> Thank you so much to my beta who will temporarily remain nameless until the end of this competition. My prompt was the tagline from Showgirls: "Leave Your Inhibitions At The Door."

_Leave your inhibitions at the door._

It appeared in elegant script, the faint glow of magic pulsating from each carefully written letter as she pushed open the wooden door, leaving a faint trail of magic in her wake. Long strides carried her through the wards, and she shed her coat as she entered, absently handing it to the witch at the coat check before continuing down the long, brightly lit hallway. Portraits lined the walls, some of her own body wrapped in silk, others who sat perched on their knees with some wizard’s cock poised at their lips, another of a delicate flogger dangling from a witch’s painted fingers. 

One could not enter this space with reservation. She learned long ago that if she were to be fully accepted within this elite circle where three references, a magio-neuropsychological examination, and bi-monthly wellness checks were required, that she must embrace the secret parts of her that craved what only this club could provide. 

It was a source of bitter amusement now, that none of her sexual partners had ever been able to meet her needs. She’d learned long ago that soft, sweet love-making without the added bite of teeth at her shoulder or a hand twisted in around her inky locks did little to endear her to those who felt the need to coddle her. She wasn’t some delicate little flower, wilting at the slightest change in weather. She was hardy and resilient, much like her namesake—able to weather any number of storms. 

Effortlessly, she moved from planning elaborate dinner parties with her mother to making hardened criminals cry with a subtle flick of her wand. She charmed old biddies out of their galleons for innumerable charitable causes as easily as she wielded a flogger on the rare nights she made the decision to step out of her typical role at the club. 

But romance? 

That eluded Pansy Parkinson entirely. 

She had friends, partners, and confidants with whom she chose to spend her time, but she had long given up on the notion that she was meant for love. 

No matter how many introductions her mother made over dinner. 

“You’re late.” 

She turned, eyeing the wizard behind the bar with the cheeky smirk, electric blue eyes, and the inability to keep his mouth shut. She leaned across the immaculately polished quartz, presenting her cheek with a grin playing at her lips. Cormac smacked a kiss there before pressing a glass of water into her hands. He may have been a complete tosser in school, but he’d turned out alright and she rather enjoyed his witty commentary, even if his eyes did linger just a bit too long over the swell of her cleavage. 

She took a slow sip of the water and settled into a stool at the bar. “I’m not late.” 

“Oh, but you are,” he teased, eyes flicking to the other side of the room. “His Grace has requested the pleasure of your company tonight.” 

She twisted slowly, dark curls falling over the exposed skin of her back as she arched, eyeing the imposing man seated regally in one of the chairs, holding court amongst several of the younger patrons, a glass of what she knew to be ridiculously expensive elf-made brandy balanced between his fingers. 

“Then perhaps His Grace should have informed me of such.” 

Cormac leaned over the bar, elbows sliding over the gold-flecked quartz, chin resting lightly against his fingers. “It’s the third Wednesday of the month, I know for a fact you have a standing appointment.” 

A rush of breath left her lungs, surrounding the curse that fled her lips. She pushed the glass of water towards Cormac, quickly slipping off of the stool and righting her skirts. 

Cormac laughed, hand curling around the glass and discarding it into the nearby sink. “I hope you can sit down when he’s finished with you.” 

She waved him off determined to not appear flustered, but the truth was… she hoped the inevitable sting lasted for days. 

* * *

Pansy’s heels clicked against the pavement in short, quick strides as she tugged her coat around her body forcefully, tying the sash at her waist. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and her heart thrummed against the cavity of her chest, threatening to steal her breath entirely. She ducked into The Leaky Cauldron, threading her way through noisy tables full of patrons, the smell of stale ale and oily fare turning her stomach, until she stepped out of the pub and onto the dark streets of London. The nearby alley served as a safe point from which to disapparate and her magic sent her to the one place she felt content to be when she didn’t want to be alone. 

The dark foyer was quiet, as expected given the time. Wards would have alerted him to her presence and even if he awoke, she suspected he would go right back to sleep. Pansy discarded her heels and coat before she wiped the stain of tears from her eyes. She left her belongings in a heap by the door, uncaring as to their condition as she combed each room of the home, looking for Ron. 

When they had both made the decision to enroll in Auror training, they had loathed one another, if that was even a strong enough word for the hatred that broiled between them. He yelled. She screeched. Wands were drawn until Harry and Draco had to pull them apart before curses flew and they both ended up in St. Mungos. Robards wouldn’t budge, insisting that their assessments showed they were compatible partners and they would simply have to learn to work together. 

It was quite possibly Pansy’s worst nightmare. 

It took months before they were able to find common ground, a year before trust began to form, and three years before Pansy felt like Ron would have her back. But now, nearly ten years after that disastrous first day at the Academy, she sought him out before all others. 

Bare feet carried her through the shadows until she entered his bedroom. Instead of finding him sleeping soundly in bed, the room was empty, bed neatly made. Finding his home empty and devoid of the one person she _needed_ in this moment was devastating, but she soldiered on, willing her tears not to fall. The wardrobe doors opened soundlessly and she pulled out a faded shirt, dark orange and rightly hideous but comforting all the same, before shedding her dress. 

The slip of cotton was cool against her heated skin and she shivered in the silence of Ron’s bedroom. Her body ached, thighs bruised and tender, and her arse warm from the night’s pleasures, the marks of which she hadn’t given her partner time to heal before she gathered her things and rushed out of the club. 

It seemed ridiculous now, to be so frightened of something she hadn’t rightly expected, but self-preservation had won out and she fled, ignoring the pained look on her partner’s face as she gathered her things and slipped into the loo to change. Pansy was all but certain their partnership was over. The past six months had been a whirlwind of passion since the day he materialized at the club, presiding over a group of younger men and a few women with a cigar tucked between two fingers and a glass of something expensive balanced in his hand. 

It might have been his confidence that first captured her attention but she returned, night after night, because of his sharp mind and affectionate nature. He was funny, effortlessly so, and it was endearing the way he cradled her as if she were something precious after completely taking her apart with any number of implements— a flogger, his mouth, a paddle, his cock. She melted beneath his touch, easily submitting to his will, trusting that he would take care of her. 

And he did, every time. 

But fear had gripped her when in a moment of quiet, he carefully stated, “I’d like for us to be exclusive.” 

Exclusivity meant a relationship. It meant commitment. It meant leaving herself open and vulnerable to another person beyond the carefully constructed bounds of sex. She could bring a witch to her knees on the dais with only a subtle pass of her hands or allow a dominant partner to take her apart, piece by piece, but Pansy’s emotions remained tightly regulated. 

Her body shivered in the cool night air as she crawled into Ron’s bed, sinking into the plush mattress and arranging the pillows around her. She pulled blankets about her in a cocoon, a safe home in which she could allow her vulnerability to shine and admit to herself that she’d become simultaneously too attached, and yet unwilling to open herself further to a man with whom she had found herself compatible. 

Hours later, heavy steps awoke Pansy from her slumber. Fingers curled around her wand as her training pulled her from a sleepy haze to fully alert in seconds. The door creaked on its hinges as it opened and a spell formed on her lips until she caught sight of her former partner, red hair dishevelled and looking like hell. 

Blue eyes rimmed with dark shadows peered at her in the darkness, recognition sparking in his gaze. “You’re here.” 

Pansy lowered her wand, brow creasing as he stepped in the room. His slumped shoulders straightened as he discarded the jacket over his arm onto a chair near the door. 

“I had a rough night,” she said, pulling the blankets back and wincing at the ache between her thighs and the soreness smarting from the muscles in her bum as she slipped out of the bed. 

He didn’t respond, which was unusual, and she crept closer, painted fingers brushing over his cheek. She raised her wand, keeping her fingers in contact with the smooth skin of his cheek, hovering just above where stubble lined his jaw, and firmly cast a comprehensive diagnostic charm. Statistics hovered above Ron’s head as his arms, heavy with exhaustion, came to rest around her waist. 

“What the fuck happened to you tonight? You’ve got a mild concussion, a hell of a cut over your eye, two bruised ribs, and your magical core is nearing depletion. By all accounts, I should cart your arse off to St. Mungos for an overnight stay.” 

Ron stayed silent as Pansy cancelled the diagnostic charm, the scent of heavy spellfire coating his robes, masking his normally warm scent. Her fingers remained against his cheek, sliding into his hair until her palm met his skin. 

“I didn’t even know you were still doing fieldwork,” she said quietly, wrapping her other arm around his body, gently moulding her front to his so as not to aggravate his injuries. She didn’t know how much he needed the comfort of her embrace but _she_ needed it, needed to know that he was okay. 

“Smythe’s cover was broken months ago, I was the only one with enough field training and familiarization with the location to take it on. Couldn’t tell anyone,” he grumbled, his head dropping against her shoulder as his hands landed heavy against her hips, the faint scent of cigars clinging to his hair. “Spell broke a few hours ago when the suspect was apprehended. You know the one.” 

Standard practice during high-profile investigations dictated use of a gag-order spell, preventing the investigative team and others involved from speaking about the case to anyone who might compromise it. She knew it well and had been under it several times. She’d even treated several members of their team who were under that particular spell which made gathering comprehensive information on the extent of their injuries rather tricky. 

Pansy’s fingers skated over Ron’s back, urging the much taller man forward toward the bed, uncaring that she wore only his t-shirt, as she gently helped him sit down. 

“Tell me about it.” A flick of her wand and her dark curls bound into a neat bun, secured by magic. She sanitized her hands and summoned a cloth from the restroom. Directing a gentle stream of water from the tip of her wand, she began to clean the cut above his eye. 

His hands clung to the fabric brushing her hips. “Pans, I don’t…” 

She pressed the cloth against his skin, ignoring his wince. “You’ve told me about every other case since we were both reassigned, I doubt this one is any different.” 

The set of tension in his shoulders made Pansy frown, but she remained quiet, letting her healer training take over, leaving her with an impassive mask despite the buzz of anger beneath her skin that she wasn’t there to prevent his injuries. 

“It started about two years ago. Magical Creatures got word of a thestral slaughter followed quickly by wards being breached at one of the protected sites. One of the unicorns there was found decimated and key parts of it were missing.” 

“I remember Hermione telling me about that,” Pansy said quietly as she sanitized the area surrounding the cut on Ron’s forehead. 

Ron nodded as Pansy steadied his head by pressing her hands to his cheeks. “Hermione was furious over it. Eventually, it linked with another case—illicit potions, black market dealings, and dark artefacts.” 

“That doesn’t sound like anything you’re usually involved in, though. At least, not now,” Pansy pointed her wand at the cut above Ron’s brow and gently began stitching it back together with careful spellwork. Before she’d specialized in healing and he in tactics and investigation, they’d spent much of their time dealing in black-market items and wizards who thought they were the second coming of Voldemort. 

“It’s not. Aurors got brought in because the bastard began trafficking and experimenting on muggles and magicals. Investigative group was no longer specialized enough to handle the case. I’ve spent months casing various clubs around London waiting to approach him to make a deal. Showing my face, blending in, that sort. I think I might be immune to the taste of Polyjuice now, Pans. Is that even possible?” 

She held back her laugh until the cut was neatly closed. “Give it a few weeks. I’m sure it’ll taste just as foul. But that still doesn’t tell me how you got injured. You’re usually much more careful.” 

Pansy frowned at Ron and gently ran her fingers through his hair, carefully parting it before placing her wand directly at the crown of his head. 

He sighed, tilting his head forward until she could no longer see his face. “I got distracted. Met a bloody brilliant witch at one of them, stubborn as they come, beautiful, cultured.”

Her heart threatened to drop into her stomach. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that he’d been seeing someone and she hadn’t known. Surely he could’ve said _something_ . Merlin, what if she’d come over only to find another witch in his bed? Even if they were only friends, she couldn’t help the tug at her heart that they could be _more_ , no matter how much she ignored those feelings. Ron wasn’t meant for her. Ron was meant for someone like Hermione with grand dreams of equality or Lavender, with her infectious smile. 

Ron’s voice dropped and she strained to listen. “Couldn’t even tell her who I was. It was bloody stupid of me to get involved with her that way, but I couldn’t help it. Merlin knows I was a little too far gone that first night to refuse her advances, not sure I could’ve if I wanted to.” His hands brushed against the fabric of her hips, sliding low until she could feel the warmth of his fingers skating over the tops of her thighs before they moved back up to settle against her waist. 

Magic slipped through her veins and, channelled through her wand, allowing her careful access to his mind. She avoided his memories as she lightly probed, seeking the source of his concussion. His hands tightened around her hips and he groaned. “Keep talking,” she said, as much as she didn’t want to hear about the other woman, “It’ll help keep your mind distracted while I find the source.” 

He continued, his voice quiet, the worlds rolling off of his tongue as if he’d been holding it all back and was now desperate to speak his truth. “Been seeing her for about six months, on and off when possible but we had a standing date once a month. Always made time for her when she came, save for once or twice when I was in the thick of things, working my way into the suspect’s inner circle.” 

A memory, vivid, potent, and persistent, pushed its way into her view and she saw _herself,_ poised on her knees with a blissful smile on her lips as a hand brushed her cheek. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, fastened in a curve around her crown. The memory shifted and her back was arched, the hand before tugging at the delicate chain between the twin clamps circling her nipples, pulling a soft moan from her throat. 

Her blood ran cold. 

“I was smitten, really, and when I asked her to stay, to be with me exclusively, she ran. I started to chase after her and that’s when I saw the suspect with his wand poised, ready to take her down and secret her away as he’d done his other victims. I didn’t even think, Pans. I saw red and jumped on his back, couldn’t let her—you—get hurt… not after, not after everything.” 

Pansy zipped through Ron’s mind, suddenly desperate to get out, brushing past the memories of herself, of _him_ , of everything _they’d_ done over the past several months. Had it even been them? She was herself, certainly, but Ron? He’d worn someone else’s body, _lied_ to her, _used her_. She couldn’t even think straight as her mind whirled and spun, caught in its own tornado. With the source of his concussion so near within her grasp, she ripped herself out of his mind as she stumbled back, letting it slip through her fingers. His hands caught her and her stomach roiled, threatening to expel its meagre contents. 

Pansy shoved Ron’s hands away, straightening her back, knuckles straining white against the grip on her wand. “You lied to me.” 

“I—”

“You _used me_ . I’ll give you that first time, _your Grace_ ,” she spat the word as if it were a curse, “But after that, you should have stopped it, come clean. Said something to me, _anything_ . Gag-Order spells don’t prevent _that._ ” 

Her entire body flushed with the heat of her anger, and her partner, never one to draw back from a fight, simply looked at her with defeat in his eyes. It was unnerving. She wanted him to scream back, to raise his wand at her as they had done in the early days of their training, but he sat there, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy and it only served to heighten her anger. 

Tears pricked at her eyes and her voice trembled, “I trusted you.” 

“Pansy,” he whispered, reaching towards her. 

She took two rapid steps back, putting further distance between them. “No. No, Ronald. I trusted you and you broke that trust in one of the most heinous ways I can imagine.” 

His entire body slumped forward, hand carding through the thick red hair on top of his head before it swiped across his face, “I’m sorry.” 

“I have to go,” she said, starting towards the door. She’d send a house-elf for her things later, probably burn the shirt she was currently wearing, and cut him out of her life. After everything they’d been through, everything they’d confided in one another, she could have never expected _this_ from him. He was supposed to be her safe place, the one person she could rely on when she needed grounding. 

She felt adrift, untethered. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, willing her to run, to flee, to keep her heart safe from harm. 

He pushed off of the bed, wincing and tucking one of his arms protectively around his injured ribs, “Pansy, wait.” 

“No,” She stalked towards the door, but he blocked her path. 

His light-blue eyes were red-rimmed and soft, face twisted into something too close to anguish she didn’t think he had the right to feel. The heart-wrenching sadness present within his gaze made her pause for half-a second too long because his arms came around her, crushing her against his chest. She pushed back, but he didn’t let her go. 

“I need you to listen, and then you can go, walk out of my life forever if you want, but I need you to know.” 

Pansy’s hand curled into the fabric of his shirt as she angled her wand at his neck, “Let. Me. Go.” 

His voice dropped, the rush of his breath soft against her ear as he spoke, holding her tightly against him as her body vibrated with a painful anger. “When the one thing you’ve wanted for years drops unexpectedly into your lap and _begs_ for more… Could you turn her away?” 

The words grit out between clenched teeth, “I did not beg.” 

“I wanted to say something, but you know as well as I do that the spell prevents disclosure of potion use. I dropped hints and worked around the spell where I could, but it was never enough. I should have backed out, said something as myself, but it was so easy as _him._ ”

“It was wrong.” 

“It _was_ wrong,” he echoed, and his grip on her loosened, giving her the opportunity to push back, to step out of his embrace if she desired, but she stayed. Her hand desperately wrapped in the fabric of his shirt and her wand poised at his throat, heavy breaths falling from her mouth as she trembled in his arms, anger giving way to grief. 

“I was wrong and for that, Pansy, I’m sorry. But I’ll never be sorry about what we shared. I was always me, even if I wore another face. Every action, every word… that was _me_.” 

Tears streaked down her cheeks for the second time that night and she took a step back, the rush of cool air blanketing her already shivering body. She wanted to run back to him, to the safety of his arms, no matter how he’d wronged her. She wanted his warmth, his spice, his comforting presence wrapped around her even now when he’d been the one to break the trust between them. 

“What does it say on the door?” 

She didn’t even have to ask what door he was talking about. There was only one door they both intimately knew, one door they’d both passed through, leaving their worries and cares behind to find a sense of peace and belonging. 

“You know what it says.” 

His voice was soft, pleading, “Say the words, please.” 

The words stuck in her throat, words she was no longer certain she could ascribe to ever again. The cadence was disjointed when she finally found it within her to accede to his request, “Leave your inhibitions at the door.” 

His fingers brushed against the curve of her arm, palm warm against her cold skin, eyes and tone heavy with the consequences of his actions. “I know it’s hard for you to be vulnerable, sweetheart,” she flinched at the moniker he’d only ever used at the club, “But I think it says something about what you want that instead of going home, you came here, to my bed, to _me_ when something upset you.” 

She wanted to tell him it meant nothing. She wanted to yell and scream and throw hexes until they were both blind from the force of the spellfire. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. 

“It meant something…. But not anymore.” 

* * *

**_Six Months Later_ **

It appeared in elegant script, the faint glow of magic pulsating from each carefully written letter as she pushed open the wooden door, leaving a faint trail of magic in her wake.

 _Leave your inhibitions at the door_. 

She hadn’t been back in months, unable to stomach the thought of returning after what transpired between her and Ron. The coveted bruises from their last night together faded quickly, leaving her body unblemished, without the memory of his presence imprinted on her skin, even if the scene played over again in her mind. 

Pansy had done everything in her power to avoid him. She’d transferred out of the Auror department and had taken a position as a healer with the Quidditch League. She moved out of her flat and into another one across town, and burned every letter and bouquet that arrived. She avoided his friends, even if they were hers too until Draco nearly beat down her door with an irate Hermione already working to dismantle her wards standing close behind. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was expressly avoided as was the Leaky Cauldron on Tuesday evenings when she knew he would be there playing darts and drinking beer with a group of friends.

Yet here she was, back at the club, long strides carrying her through the familiar halls. The portraits on the wall remained unchanged, the ambiance the same. Patrons sat in groups around the edges, a demonstration set up on the main stage to which she paid little mind. It was comforting, being back in the familiar space, seeking companionship for urges she didn’t fully understand but that she was desperate to act upon. 

Was she ready to try again? 

She wasn't certain, but it was time to move forward, to move on… with or without _him_.

“You’re back!” Cormac seemed almost too overjoyed to see her as he pressed a glass of water into her hands. 

“For the time being,” She wasn’t even certain she would stay for longer than a few minutes. She hadn’t even bothered to scan the crowd, knowing he wouldn’t be there, holding court amongst the younger patrons, a cigar tucked in one hand and a tumbler full of expensive brandy in the other. She doubted after she stormed out of his home that he would return, especially now that the suspect he’d apprehended was imprisoned in Azkaban.

“You’ve been missed,” Cormac said with a grin, his wand directing a lime to squeeze its juice into a glass before adding a measure of gin by hand. 

Pansy rolled her eyes, taking a sip of the cool water, “Somehow I doubt that.” 

Cormac’s eyes darted behind her and she turned, heart thundering against her chest when she caught sight of him. He was there, sitting alone in a chair with a glass of something clear balanced against his knee, blue-eyed gaze falling upon her from across the room. He still wore the expensive suit of the man with whom she'd spent her evenings, but his face was his own, not that of a stranger.

It was difficult to tear her eyes away from him but she managed, turning back around to fully face the bartender. “His Grace has requested the pleasure of your company tonight… and has done so every night for the past six months.” 

Pansy frowned, painted finger circling the rim of her glass. “I’m not certain I’ll see him again, his Grace broke my trust.”

The sound of Ron’s voice sent a shiver over her spine. “And he’d like the chance to earn it back.” 

She turned slowly, the weight of his familiar presence at her back lending her strength to meet his eyes. Over the past six months, she had plenty of time to sort through her thoughts surrounding Ron and his actions, and while Pansy hadn't forgiven him, she was no longer angry. She didn’t fully understand why he never confessed to his feelings for her, resorting instead to secrecy, but she also hadn’t given him the chance to properly explain before she stormed out of his home. Seeing him again made her blood rush through her veins and she felt, for the first time in months, as if she could breathe freely.

When she entered the club tonight, she'd made the solemn vow that she would leave her inhibitions at the door. 

Drawing a breath, Pansy allowed a small smile to curve over her painted lips, pushing her glass of water toward Cormac. 

"You can start by buying me a drink."


End file.
